Distance
by Clayairnys
Summary: (spoilers for Into Darkness) Spock is unable to stop himself from killing Khan, thus dooming Jim. Each crewmember has their own residual guilt surrounding the matter, but the Vulcan is perhaps the most broken, and when a chance comes along to revive the captain, he takes it: and there are dire consequences. (Temporary Major Character Death) (Slow building K/S)(some Scotty/Uhura)
1. Prologue

There is a distinct sensation of cold. It permeates every word so painstakingly forced out and rushes bitter into Spock's lungs. If he did not know the exact density of one mole of the _Enterprise_'s atmospheric air content (17.8553 g/mol) the conclusion would have been that the molecules themselves were growing heavy. Spock was in near-optimal health, so why was there a pang in his side and a tightness in his throat? Most illogical.

The glass under his sensitive fingertips was ever colder. It shouldn't have been. It should have been the temperature of the captain's own hand (37.334 degrees centigrade). Instead this interloping pane of glass kept him 3 cm—far too great a distance—from the shaking fingers sloppily assembling themselves to form the ta'al. Cold. Much too cold.

And worst of all, those blues eyes. The warm cerulean that held the heat and intensity of a hundred stars (impossible, they were at most 4.12 centimeters in diameter and could not possible contain even one gas giant-) were frigid as the vacuum of space. It was so wrong; Jim—the captain, above all he was warm. His smile and his voice and his demeanor and his conduct—the way he never _ever_ left a crewman behind if there was a 0.47% chance of saving him—Jim Kirk was a warm being.

The prickling in the corner of Spock's eyes has melted into a trail of salt water. Unacceptable. Vulcans do not cry.

But it is not nearly as unacceptable as the way the captain's hand falls or the shuddering stop in the rise and fall of his chest.

* * *

Anger.

He's felt it before: in heated arguments with the captain over logical courses of action, watching as his own hand closes around the throat of the very same man, staring down the one responsible for his mother's death, and if he'll admit to it: standing in front of the Vulcan Council as they ridicule his descent.

It is a heat in his stomach that never ceases and the roar of blood in his ears.

Guilt.

Another familiar emotion: staring at the empty transporter pad that should have held the most important woman, looking at the shocked faces on the bridge and into the eyes of the man he nearly killed, hearing the pain in Nyota's voice as he realizes he's hurt her.

It is in the way he clenches his jaw and the catch in his voice.

Sorrow. Oh, and it is the worst. The ache of a thousand bonds broken and the telepathic death cries of millions of his people, the hand that closed around air, and in the eyes of his father.

It is the part of him that wants to scream in anguish and tear the flesh of the monster responsible.

* * *

And Surak, does it feel good to hear the crunch of bone and the pounding of his own heart and the whistle of the air around him. Logic has completely abandoned its hold on Spock, and his blood boils and sings with every pained sound from Khan. _You can't even break a rule, how can you be expected to break bone?_

Wrenching Khan's arm free of its socket holds a morbid satisfaction.

"Spock!"

Fierce pleasure rises up with every time Spock's fist collides with his enemy's visage. He cannot be forgiven, never. For right then there is no crime more horrible than depriving the world of the light that is James Tiberius Kirk. _There is no line in Starfleet regulations that condemns a man to death without trial. _

"Spock! Stop!"

The voice is only one more distraction in the torrent of noise. Again and again and again he slams all of his rage into the man that took everything. Spock can feel his own fingers break, but the pain too dulls into the background. _Do you know why I went back for you?_

"Spock!"

_You know, I'm going to miss you._

"It's the only way we can save Kirk!"

Kirk.

Jim.

_Because you are my friend._

And he cannot stop his blow from connecting with Khan's skull. Cannot erase the sickening crunch of skull and spray of blood. His own roar of pain coupled with Nyota's shriek.

"NO!"


	2. Chapter 1

**_A/N Hi! I'm glad you've decided to keep reading, what with my dismal fanfiction skills. First off: This is going to be very long. Hella long. Maybe not Gilgamesh long, but long. I've got the vast majority planned out, so unless I am unexpectedly busy, updates should be pretty quick. At LEAST once a week. Also, I can't write sex. I can't. I'm a little innocent (heh) girl who really doesn't know the mechanics (outside of fanfiction, of course). And anyway, the goal of this isn't going to be sex, it's going to be love. Boo hoo, sorry. On another note: I love Uhura. She was one of my biggest role models and unfortunately JJ Abrams put me in a position where she has to "lose" for my ship to sail. There will not be any Uhura bashing from me. Remember: the major character death is only temporary ;)._**

**_On with the show!_**

* * *

_One week later_

In the end, a near quarter of downtown San Francisco was leveled. James T. Kirk was one of thousands of casualties-Starfleet officers, cadets, and civilians perishing in the massive collateral of the warship's path. People flocked to the coast with the intention of assisting in the tumultuous rescue efforts as well as worried family and friends desperately wishing someone special had survived. All available ships were recalled for the huge project of ascertaining the missing and collecting the dead. Each new day was met with cries of exaltation, whimpers of agony, and the shuddering quakes when a precarious piece of rubble collapsed. Fourteen more officers were killed when a trapped gas leak was suddenly exposed to the electrical team's equipment.

Vague, if any, explanation was given to the public on the causes of the disaster. A man named John Harrison had commandeered Admiral Marcus's ship and then proceeded to attack the _Enterprise_ and Starfleet Headquarters, seemingly without provocation. Those who received this patchwork overview hardly cared how spotty it was when the city continued to fall around them and people needed to be found.

It was truly a testament to humanity how quickly aid arrived. The progress certainly didn't look like much, but given time, the city and the base would once again be fully operational and perhaps a bit safer.

Of course, that was only the outer layer of the activity that consumed the 'Fleet.

The first of many projects to be dealt with was the recovery of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. The flagship had been rendered nearly inert and barely made it to the space dock before the core sputtered and died. At least a hundred well-trained and necessary officers had been lost under Khan's onslaught, and it was even uncertain whether or not the ship could be fixed. Seeing as quite a few powerful individuals were against having their constitution class, nearly brand-new ship scrapped, it was decided the _Enterprise _would remain in service. A good deal of the ship's engineers, led by Montgomery Scott elected to remain aboard and begin reparation efforts. It seemed no one could drag them away from their "silver lady".

On an added note, several distraught scientists had to be consoled after witnessing the devastation of the labs.

Quick funerals were arranged and held whenever there was time down, but with the situation as dicey as it was, few wanted to take the risk of letting something else go wrong. Instead, there was an open morgue in which medical examiners and civilians alike feverishly attempted to identify bodies. Transport was down. Communications were torched. It was utter chaos for the first few days.

Admiral Marcus's body was recovered from the wreckage of the warship, and he was grieved and posthumously given several awards of valor. He didn't deserve them, but no one knew otherwise.

The city bustled with crowds and rang with noises of joy and sounds of progress, with a somber undercurrent of loss.

* * *

Commander Spock stepped lightly off the stand as the admirality began to file out of the courtroom. No one spoke but for whispers that did not serve their purpose in the sense that they echoed off the walls, magnified exponentially.

The half-vulcan watched the throng solemnly, unsatisfied with the result of 5.4 days worth of dispute. Killing a man without trial and endangering a crew of 402 beings ought to warrant more than a suspension of instructorial privileges. Killing J—the Captain… He deserved far worse.

However, there was no logic in arguing with the decision once made, and he simply pushed the residual uncertainties deep beneath his shields. He'd spent 16.87 hours in heavy meditation to subdue his emotions after the… incident, and although they were not exactly at optimal strength, the shields in place would suffice.

This was a meaningless affirmation that in reality had no weight.

Spock was pulled out of his musings by the soft pressure of a hand on his forearm. He turned.

"Nyota."

"Spock," the syllable spilled soft from her linguistically talented lips, "I'm sorry, may I touch you?" she queried, glancing as where her hand rested lightly on Spock's sleeve.

"Affirmative," Spock replied, almost tonelessly. Uhura wondered if he really meant it or if he just didn't want to hurt her feelings. That seemed to be a common predicament when it came to their relationship.

She frowned and narrowed her eyes a bit as she tried to read him. "Spock, what the tribunal decided—"

"—Was adequate and logical given the present circumstances," he cut in.

A pause.

"Do you really believe that?" Imploringly she searched his dark eyes, attempting to perhaps see past years of Vulcan teachings.

Spock did not deign to respond.

Dr. McCoy had weaved his way through the crowd to reach them, several medkits and a tricorder in hand; he turned to the communications officer. "Oi, Chapel, M'Benga and I were planning on making a stop by the intensive care ward, and someone told us your mother arrived here by shuttle an hour ago? Might wanna go see her," he chided. Not once did he look Spock's way. Such was the routine of the past week. The two hardly talked, rarely met, and seldom made eye contact. Though the doctor had provided a nice testimony to Spock's case, he made no gestures of a supportive nature.

"Of course," she hastened to reply, clearly enthusiastic about the idea, but then her face fell as she regarded Spock. He dipped his head in acknowledgement and strode off to the east exit.

"You know, Leonard, you could at least stop ignoring him," he heard Uhura scold McCoy. "He's having a really hard time."

The doctor scoffed, "Green-blooded bastard like him? Probably doesn't even compute."

Spock hastened his pace to get out of range before he heard Nyota's scathing reply.

Beneath the bustling rescue and construction efforts of the city, Spock had spent the least 7.3 days undergoing multiple questionings, hearings, meetings, and accusations. First he, along with the rest of the bridge crew members, had to submit an official mission report of what happened; the details of which were mostly kept from the general public. Then he was detained for 7.95 hours with the charges of killing Khan before he could be brought to trial for his crimes. Immediately after being released he was whisked off to an assembly on the safe removal of the downed warcraft's harmful substances. After a brief respite in which he took solace in meditation, Spock's skills were needed in the discussion of how to handle the hostility building with the Klingon Empire since the _Enterprise_'s unexpected breakdown in neutral quadrant theta and the subsequent destroying of a Klingon patrol.

The most recent of the hearings had concluded and finalized Spock's sentence, during which various crew members and noteworthy academy professors wheedled him out of any strict reprimands. The commander had been temporarily suspended from his teaching position, which was of little consequence considering the entirety of the campus had been shut down in order to assist with the recovery project.

Stepping out into the crisp air of the city by the bay, Spock set his course for the temporary housing available for officers and volunteers. It was some distance away from the damaged parts of the city, and the rooms consisted mainly of apartments rented out for free for the time being. Spock had yet to use his quarters for anything other than meditation, and gloomily opted to rest once he returned. The atmosphere remained reasonably cloudy and the once formidable outline of the coast looked rather pitiful. Deliberately not looking at the looming figure of the warship, Spock instead found his gaze drawn to a large scaffolding protruding from a large hole in the roof of the library. Someone had affixed multiple Starfleet insignia flags, and tied several dozen roses to the structure. A banner proclaimed "For the Brave. For the Lost".

* * *

"_Look, Spock, that entire civilization will be wiped out if we don't do something," the immovable tone that the captain used when he was really serious slid into place over the usual cadence. The first time Spock witnessed it had been when the cadet, who frankly, shouldn't have even been aboard the Enterprise, explained his logic surrounding the Vulcan distress call._

"_Captain, the Prime Directive clearly states that any direct and outside influence of a planet or peoples' natural destiny is strictly forbidden," the half-vulcan first officer countered. "We have been ordered to simply ascertain the point of development as which the Nibirans currently reside and report back. We are not to, as you say, "meddle in their affairs"."_

_A steely glint was in the captain's blue eyes. "So we are going to let an entire intelligent, sentient, society which has accomplished so much already to burn to ash because of that volcano. I didn't expect that from_ you_, Mr. Spock._"

_Spock opened his mouth, then closed it. _

_Jim's eyes widened minutely, and were shadowed with shame for an instant, before they hardened again. "Look, Scotty says we can use a shuttle to quickly deposit the device under the cover of the steam and get in and out before the natives even know. Provided our distraction works," the last part he muttered._

"_Whilst Mr. Scott has indeed proved to be capable in his duties as Chief Engineer, I find it somewhat surprising that he would have the knowledge necessary to assemble the rapid oxidative cooling device in under 4.23 hours before the volcano erupts," Spock bit out tersely, forcing all thoughts of Vulcan from his mind._

"_He told me he has already got his super ice cube half finished, and will be ready in time," A note of impatience wound its way into the captain's voice. "Spock you have to trust me. I can't let those people die," he turned the full spectrum of his azure eyes on Spock and the first officer had to take a deep breath before responding._

"_Captain, I will defer to your… judgement. Seeing as I possess superior strength and heat tolerance I recommend myself for the deposit of the device, sir."_

_Jim smiled. "See Mr. Spock? It's amazing what a little acquiescence can do," he then clapped him on the shoulder—a habit he had yet to cease despite numerous reminders—as he strode towards the turbolift. "Sulu, you have the conn!"_

* * *

Spock shook his head and swallowed hard. Surprised at his own mental lapse, he glanced around to see that the other officers and admirals had indeed since left the premises (presumably to file in for a shift in the recovery). After a brief vacillation, he set off again: not towards his housing, but along the path that led to a large medical warehouse.

Voice recognition swiftly granted him access and he entered the lift without anyone stopping to question him. Some scientists he recognized from the _Enterprise_ ducked their heads in acknowledgement. The commander had been in and out constantly since the crew's return. Pressing the button for the ninth floor, Spock let his shoulders fall minutely and slightly relaxed. A young blond cadet dashed into the turbolift before the doors slide shut. His arms were burdened with a large stack of files and what appeared to be a potted plant of Andorian redroot. Hands clasped behind his back, Spock returned to parade rest and stayed silent, his eyes on the curved wall in front of him as the boy shuffled some papers and rearranged the load in his arms.

"Um…"

Raising an eyebrow, Spock turned to examine the speaker. "Yes, cadet?"

The boy blushed and stuttered, "O-oh, um well, you're Mr. Spock, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Oh hi, my name's Kevin Riley, but that's not important is it, of course not—and uh, an old friend of mine works with you, and he comms sometimes… so…" Spock raised the other brow and the Riley ducked his head. "Well, I just wanted so say, it's nice to meet you in person. And, uh, I'm very sorry about Vulcan…"

Spock wished to cut him off there "You said your friend 'works with me', what is his name?"

The kid beamed, seemingly jovial at the opportunity to talk about his 'friend who comms sometimes.' "Jim. Jim Kirk. We met when we were little."

Spock stiffened, almost imperceptibly, and deliberately returned his gaze to the wall of the turbolift. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, we—" Riley faltered a bit at the expression (or lack there-of) on the vulcan's face.

After a few tense seconds of silence, he mumbled "Well, this is my floor, so… pleasure to meet you!" and bustled out.

Blessedly alone but in no better mood, Spock rode up four more floors before exiting the lift and promptly starting off down the dimly lit hallway He nodded to some familiar doctors and pretended not to see their obviously piteous faces. Turning to the last door on the left, Spock deftly keyed in the enter code on the pad, and stepped inside, listening to the hiss as the door slide shut again.

The room was small, and sparse for a medical office. A few monitors hung on the walls, most outdated, and several PADDs were stacked on a sleek desk. But save the large examining table in the center, and its occupant, it was mostly empty. Taking in the bulky capsule on the table, Spock struggled to maintain his composure.

"Lights 60%." His voice echoed unnaturally off the metal walls and had an unacceptable quaver.

Approaching the table with almost an appearance of hesitancy, he regarded the sheathed cryo tube. Fluidly removing the cloth that obscured the window, he peered melancholic at the serene within.

"Jim."

* * *

_**A/N: I know, I'm evil, but the next update should be soon!**_

_**How 'bout instead of killing me, you review? Then everyone's happy!**_

_**EDIT: fixed a bunch of typos and cleaned up a few sentences**_


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N: So sorry this is late! Half of my digestive system decided to quit and take a four day nap which was, needless to say, time-occupying. But I hath returned with another chapter! Happy early Christmas! I plan to make the chapters longer than they have been thus far, but it usually depends on the content of the chapter. Certain things just go better separately, I suppose. Enjoy some angst!**_

* * *

_The captain had invited Spock to partake in the pastime known as 'chess' for the fifth time: an occurrence that had been increasing in frequency since the first query four months in to his command of the _Enterprise._ Spock, having previously engaged in the intellectual game with his mother pre-Starfleet, was uncertain as to whether or not the blond and loquacious captain would prove a challenging opponent. He was surpr—he found it fascinating when Kirk managed to prove a rather difficult challenger, and very nearly lost the first match. The captain utilized an altogether illogical approach to the game and repeatedly appeared to make moves entirely by whimsy. By the time Spock declared "checkmate", he had determined that the captain would have made the same claim within three moves. Peculiar._

_On this occasion, the captain opened the door to his quarters almost immediately after Spock rand the buzzer for entry. A bright smile stretched across his features. "Spock! You're just in time!"_

_Kirk had requested they meet at 20:00. It was currently 19:59 and thirty-six point oh-nine seconds._

"_Of course, Captain," Spock replied, nonchalantly._

_With a snort of mirth, the captain stepped back, allowing his first officer to enter. "Of course, Commander," he returned, blue eyes flashing with humor. "Would you care for some tea? I was going to get a coffee, myself," he stuck out his tongue in a notably childlike gesture. "Replicated coffee sucks, but I'll take anything with caffeine."_

"_That would be acceptable," Spock stood at rest while Kirk moved to the replicator in the corner. The captain's quarters, the half-vulcan had noticed upon first granted entry, was what Nyota would describe as 'organized chaos.' While the design of the room was beyond Spock's logic, it no doubt had some sort of system to Kirk. _

_The first element that caught his attention that time had been the large quantity of Terran antique books on the shelves. All crewmembers kept certain 'souvenirs' or articles of their home planets, even Spock, and Kirk was no exception. But Spock had been fascinated with the captain's choice. Not that he had any doubt that James T. Kirk was an intelligent being; he'd learned as much when going through his files as a cadet before the disciplinary hearing. The human's grades had been exceptional, especially in terms of the difficulty of the classes he was taking. Warp Core Physics, although seldom the choice of command-track students, was one of many extra-curricular lectures the cadet regularly attended. _

_However, Spock hadn't quite expected this level of… _sentimentality _that came with the captain's hobby. His collection was extensive, from weathered copies of Shakespeare to fantasy works that more resembled old tomes. When the captain had first caught his XO examining the volumes he'd chucked somewhat self-deprecatingly._

"_Surprised that I can actually read?"_

_Spock had quirked an eyebrow. "I assure you that was never among my doubts, sir. Indeed you have proved most capable at reading the reports I've sent you."_

_Kirk gasped, "Did you just make a joke?"_

"_Vulcans do not 'joke'."_

"_Right," the captain had chuckled. "And Bones doesn't cuss."_

_This time, however, Spock only spared a fleeting glance at the books, and instead focused his attention on the captain's desk. Surprisingly uncluttered, it did bear a spectacular pile of PADDS, no doubt teeming with paperwork._

"_Looks like I'll be pulling another all-nighter."_

_Spock fluidly turned around to face the captain, who had quietly approached him, handing Spock his usual Vulcan tea. It was only programmed in two replicators on the entire ship: Spock's and the captain's._

_Accepting the beverage with murmured gratitudes, Spock looked more closely as the captain. His broad shoulders were hunched, and his eyes a window to his stress, curtained by dark circles and sunken. He looked for all the world his twenty-seven years of age._

_The captain sighed as he melted into his chair. "Are you going to tell me I need to sleep? Bones already nags me twelve times a day," he said tiredly. _

"_Captain, I merely intended to inquire about the last time you achieved two or more hours of REM sleep."_

_Kirk laughed. "That's the same thing," he shifted in his seat to resume set up of the chess game, which he was probably interrupted in attempt to do before, when Spock rang._

_Spock raised a brow. "It is most beneficial and important that you get your rest, Captain. You are irreplaceable to the ship and its crew."_

_Grunting the captain replied in a lower tone, "I thought part of the job of First Officer was to _be _my replacement."_

_Carefully noting the emotion in the captain's voice, Spock cautiously interjected. "Only in the undesirable case of death or emotional compromise, Captain. And I find myself thinking that I wouldn't quite live up to your singular performance in the role."_

_The words had an ameliorative effect on the drained human, causing his eyes to flash with cerulean happiness as he beamed at the Vulcan. Spock always found the amount of expression other humanoids allowed to be perturbing, but when utilized by the captain, it had a warming influence on the atmosphere of the ship. "Thanks, Spock," he smiled. "I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."_

_Spock ducked his head slightly, an unconscious attempt to avoid emotionalism, "Well, I suggest that for tonight we postpone our chess match and instead collaborate on surmounting the considerable pile of PADD work on the desk, Captain."_

"_Sounds like a brilliant idea, Spock. And you really ought to call me Jim."_

* * *

"Jim."

The answering silence, thought logically to be expected, held some amount of hurt. Silence was something Spock appreciated greatly in the bustling and hectic life on the _Enterprise_, and he often took refuge in his quarters for meditation whereas others opted to commune in one of the various rec rooms. But the way his voice echoed hollowly off the walls of the office was…unsettling.

Raising his chin and gaze, Spock straightened and once again returned to parade rest.

"Captain. There is little to report for today, other than the culmination of the latest trial on my person. The charges of misconduct and disobeying direct Starfleet Orders were nearly entirely dropped and lightened to a minor suspension of instructor reputability at the Academy," a slight pause. "I find myself…conflicted, sir. While part of me is grateful, logically, for the light punishment, there is some apprehension as to whether I am deserving of such sparing."

The space that should have contained an encouragement to continue remained empty.

"I have killed a being before he could be brought to trial for his crimes, caused the deaths of 97 crewmembers with my captaining under Khan's onslaught, and allowed that attacker to then cause even more deaths in the city. I do not feel as though I have been properly reprimanded," the word 'feel' caught awkwardly in the half-vulcan's throat, what with its disuse. Much like his mother, though, the captain had never judged Spock for admitting as much. "Captain, my actions have led to your predicament, and its finality due solely to my emotional compromise in the face of Khan."

The captain's visage, usually animated and light, remained stony and expressionless—his eyes cloaked with cold lids, unable to share their color. Spock swallowed. He still felt the illogic of speaking to a dead man, but he returned to the medical room nonetheless.

"Though it is illogical to wish for a differentiation in events that have already come to pass: I do. Capt—Jim, I wish I could try again," Spock's voice was tinged with surprise as this occurred to him. After a moment he cleared his throat.

"Nyota has become increasingly distant in regards to our relationship and I believe she has several negative emotions towards me at the moment. Not the least of which being fear. Of all those to witness my…lapse in control…" shaking his head Spock continued. "Dr. McCoy also appears troubled, and he has every right to dislike me. After all—"

Spock cut off when his Vulcan-hearing picked up the tap of footsteps in the tile hallway. When the door hissed open to reveal a startled Leonard McCoy, he had already turned and slipped past him.

"Doctor."

"Wha-? Spock?" the doctor sputtered. "What are you doing here?"

Making sure to pull his features into a steady mask of control, Spock faced the human. "Simply visiting, Doctor. I assure you I have not touched nor tampered with any of the machinery. Good day."

"'Visiting'? What do you—" but the commander had already recommenced his gait and turned the corner to the lift.

Upon exiting the premises, Spock observed that during his stop at the medical compound, the dark clouds had begun releasing a steady downpour of rain, bringing nearly all rescue and construction efforts to a reluctant halt. Upon reaching his temporary housing, Spock quickly and meticulously dried off his clothing and hair. Looking quite the opposite of the usual Vulcan composure, he observed the dismal nature of the apartment. The single light fixture yielded little light through a thick coat of grime, and the replicator looked at least four standard issue models behind. The furniture was sparse, a single narrow bed and a plain table. Thus far Spock had only unpacked his meditation mats and incense, while everything else remained untouched. It was the best the 'fleet could currently offer, even to someone of his rank and esteem, but Spock cared little for the discomfort.

Although Vulcans could go weeks without sleep under stress, Spock was feeling the weight of 8.61 days of without proper rest upon his shoulders. After checking his communicator and ascertaining that there were no issues that immediately required his expertise, he made his way wearily over to the bed and lowered himself onto the mattress. And there, fully dressed in his fatigues and on top of the sheets, he fell into a dream.

* * *

The wind screams past Spock's ears, but it is drowned out by the screaming in his head. The wailing is echoed in every bit of his telepathic voice and only increases in volume with each gratifying blow to the man named Khan. Every little pained noise spurs milliseconds of relief before falling back behind the wave of rage and grief.

_You! _

Spock's fist connects with Khan's jaw with an audible crack.

_You took Jim!_

A quick kick to the abdomen is followed by an uppercut.

_You hurt him_

Khan crashes to the hull of the craft and huffs a moan of pain. Spock rewards him with a crushing blow to his fibula.

_You lied to him_

The punches fall without pattern now, just a storm.

_You _killed _him!_

And suddenly the whistling stops, and the city fades as Khan turns slowly to face Spock.

And the bleeding features are that of Jim's.

And even then, Spock cannot stop the final blow from colliding with his temple, spilling precious red over his vision.

* * *

Choking out a gasp, Spock startled awake. Breaths chased each other in and out of his lungs feverishly as he struggled to regain his composure. 'Nightmare' was a term given to particularly unpleasant dreams which came about during sleep by various chemicals in the brain; thought nothing harmful, they were an uncannily human occurrence.

Once the racing in his side settled to the typical Vulcan heartbeat, Spock allowed himself as glace at the timepiece on the wall. He'd only managed to sleep 2.58 hours, and didn't plan to invest any more time to the practice.

A blinking light on his communicator informed him of a message from Nyota.

_~~~ Spock, I was wondering if we could talk about something. Meet me for dinner at 16:30?_

* * *

_**A/N: I'm telling you, they're gonna get longer. In the meantime, review?**_


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Oh jeez, I'm so sorry this took so long. I got caught up in all the festivities of the New Year (happy new year, by the way!) and then just had to get that oneshot down on paper (so to speak). But I hath returned, and promise to work like mad to get a few more chapters up before school resumes! Now on with the show!**_

_**EDIT: I know it was still kinda short, but I wanted to get something up for you guys. **_

Nyota Uhura was by no means a fool, and the probability of her being oblivious to those around her on top of that was astronomically against the odds. Her job involved communications. She was to be adept in understanding and reciprocating languages, and as many higher-ups had said before: she was amazing at it. Thus, she had a sensitive ear and an eye for detail-assets that she did not spare her companions from. Few people realized that body language, the voice of things unsaid, fell under her jurisdiction. Nyota could tell more from five seconds of silence than another could pull from five minutes of conversation.

So no, she was not ignorant to Spock's condition. The silly vulcan still attempted to hide it from her, which hurt some part deep inside the woman. He'd never truly relinquished the entirety of his control to her, as she had to him; there was always a wall to be encountered when moving towards him, physically and mentally. However, that wasn't nearly enough to keep her from reading the lines of his body and the twitches of his hands. Spock claimed to feel no emotion and be above it's influence, but even with his stronger half being vulcan, she found it rather easy to translate. Once she figured out she just had to approach it differently, he became an open book.

She'd stayed quiet about it, of course. Guilty as it made her feel, she liked having that advantage over Spock, like he had his telepathy. Not that he'd ever utilized it without direct permission…

Irregardless, with the man's stubborn insistence to avoid engaging with his own feelings, she probably knew more about the emotional side of Spock than he himself did.

It was with a rather heavy heart that Nyota sent him a comm requesting a conversation over dinner. Hurting Spock was the last thing she ever wanted to do. It was probably likewise for him, resulting in the feeling of tiptoeing around each other that their relationship had always wrought from her. But she thought of the situation like a dislocated limb. It would undoubtedly hurt to reset the bone, but without doing so, the situation would only decline, to the detriment of both of them.

The restaurant she'd picked was a small vegetarian place a good distance away from the destroyed fourth of the city. Sparsely decorated with hanging plants and lanterns, which cast a subtle light on the blond wood of the furniture. They'd often frequented this spot during their years dating at the Academy, so it was a familiar setting, though it therefore triggered no small amount of nostalgia. Spock arrived precisely on time, as she predicted, and settled into the seat across from her.

"Good evening, Nyota," he greeted. The human woman's heart panged to look at the dull sheen in his eyes.

"And to you as well," she replied. Damn, she was the one who brought him here, and now she was having difficulty approaching the subject.

"I've told the waiters to hold off taking our orders for now, but I got you some tea," she said, gesturing to the steaming cup in the center of the table. Dipping his head in thanks, Spock's hands curled around the china, lifting it slowly to his lips. They were dry between sunken cheeks.

For a while they simply sat in companionable silence. The half-vulcan sipped his tea and Uhura fiddled with one of the sprigs of violet situated in the table centerpiece.

"You expressed a desire for conversation," looking up Nyota's eyes met his dark twins, they looked disturbingly hollow.

Sighing, she released the flower, pulling her hands back to a resting position in front of her. Spock did likewise.

"Yes," she began, "Spock, I really don't know any other way to say this, but… I think we should discontinue our romantic relationship. For now at least," she tacked on, letting out a quiet shaky breath at having gotten it out there.

Now if he would just _say_ something.

"Explain."

There it was, no argument, no plea, no blatant refusal. She'd expected it-desired it, really-but there was still pain at the response. Spock's voice did sound a bit tighter than usual, though, and she took that for what it was.

"Look, Spock, I don't think this is good for either of us right now. What with everything going on and all the things we have yet to do with the Fleet… it isn't a healthy relationship. You are in no state to have to interact with me in emotional ways, I don't want to force that upon you. Spock, I want you to feel better; I want you to heal. And I don't think you can do that as my boyfriend.

"Ever since the captain died, I've felt guilty."

"I assure you there is no need-"

"Spock, its illogical, but the guilt is still there. I'm sorry I couldn't get there sooner. I'm sorry I couldn't have detained Khan. I'm so so sorry that I couldn't get you to stop," the words are rapidly devolving into sobs, and she can already feel a tear streak her face. She told herself she wouldn't force her emotionalism on Spock, and here she was crying in front of him. "I'm sorry, Spock, I'm sorry!"

"N-Nyota…" Spock's perpetually steady voice cracked, and this seemed to serve to distress him further. At some point during their talk, she'd raised her hands to cover her face, and now Spock gingerly placed his own over hers in a warm manner. Gently unfurling her fingers, he lowered their clasped hands to the tabletop. It was an intimacy that reinforced the flow of her tears, but with a few deep breaths, she managed to cut off the waterworks.

She needed to do this, because she cared for him, and because all the remorse she felt wasn't healthy for her either. If that meant preening off the prize rose, she'd do it.

Disentangling her fingers from his, she stared into the man's all-too-human eyes. "Please, Spock. I think we need to do this."

* * *

The knowledge that he'd hurt Nyota as well through his recent actions was a heavy weight on Spock's consciousness. They'd left the restaurant without consuming a meal, but where he now sat, on a bench in a public park, he didn't feel the loss of the food. Under stress, vulcans could go days without food or water. In the end, the split was mutually agreed upon, though he sensed that she still wished to continue their relationship, deep down. But she said that they'd been friends before, and they could be friends again, and he trusted her word.

The cloud of the earlier rain had since parted, leaving merely trails of smoky shapes across the expanse of sky. Few stars were visible, which was only to be expected in an urban area such as San Francisco. The Vulcan sky had often been the same, sheathed under a cloak of haze, night rarely breaching the light of two suns. But when things were truly still, a young boy had been able to view the swirling galaxies that he now had the honor of traversing. Somehow they seemed emptier.

Only two humans and an Orion man were present at the city garden. Presumably all others were exhausted after a day's efforts in the recovery, and had left to procure some well-deserved rest. Spock had no intention to follow their example. Instead, he sat idly as the minutes passed. Terra's satellite moon had nearly fully waned into the planet's shadow, and reflected little light back to the surface. His surroundings soon became eclipsed in darkness.

Eventually, the chill started to affect the desert-born commander, and he set a course for a lab he knew would be relatively empty at the hour. He required a computer console.

Access granted by voice, he stepped through the doors. Someone had taken it upon themselves to dim the lights, and there was a memorial of sorts by the front entrance. Several momentos, perhaps belonging to deceased workers, were placed alongside an assortment of projectors, which displayed a constant loop of Academy graduation photos. Spock didn't linger long enough to see if some were familiar.

Instead, he made his way to a private communication room, and locked the door with a code only able to be overridden by an Admiral, captain, or fellow commander.

He'd never intended to use the coordinate number given to him by his counterpart 1.29 years ago, yet he found that he could easily retrieve the digits from his memory in order to comm the elderly vulcan. For a brief moment, as the connection went through, he debated upon ending the transmission right there, but that would be illogical, seeing as he started it himself.

After several tense moments, he was greeted with the uncanny sight of the other Spock. It was incredibly unsettling, witnessing oneself, but also knowing that they weren't truly just that. Given the choice, the young commander would rather not ever have to face the man again. It was… disturbing.

"Spock," the elder's voice was soft on the exterior, but beneath it Spock could detect a mass of swirling feeling. He decided not to probe his counterpart's voice any further. Uncertain what he would find.

It was immediately obvious from his tone that he knew everything that had happened. But where Spock expected to find pity or anger, he instead found a swelling grief in the vulcan's eyes. Immeasurably deep and terrifyingly strong, it hit Spock like a blow to the stomach, leaving a dull age. The elder Spock nodded his head in acknowledgement of something unsaid, and his frame looked worryingly small and fragile. Spock struggled to maintain his shields in the face of such sadness, pretending not to realize that it intensified his own. It was a while before either Spock spoke aloud.

"The James Kirk of my universe was gone as well, though it was far, far later than this," the elder of the two said, almost wistfully.

The younger remained silent. He could almost feel the other man attempting to read him, to get in his head, and refused to return eye contact.

"I only wish you could have benefited from the presence that is Jim for longer. There are things I could never have hoped to accomplish without the solace he gave me," there was a definite note of regret in the elder's voice, and Spock was once again intrigued by how much this alternate self allowed through. Maybe that was something the man had gained from "the presence that is Jim", as he said.

Spock swallowed, avoiding the prodding gaze directed his way. "I find myself… troubled," he admitted softly. "And unsure of how to continue."

Illogically, he felt that he couldn't face this other Spock, after what he had done. This was part of the reason it had been over a week before he finally gave and contacted him. Some strange part of him wished that he had greeted him with anger. This solemn remorse on his behalf was worse.

"Spock," the elder sighed, voice audibly pained. "I regret to inform you that I cannot assist in that way, as you have lived this new life that is completely foreign to me. Do believe that I wish I could tell you what to do and where to go, but I'm afraid that I have already divulged too much. To be honest, even I do not know what I would do in your given situation," apology gleamed in the older vulcan's eyes, mingling with what must've been his own personal sorrow over the death of the Jim Kirk of his time. "I am sorry."

Spock dipped his head, utilizing a great deal of restraint to prevent himself from illogical human reactions like biting his lip or allowing it to quiver.

"As am I," he said, almost bitterly, if vulcans were capable of such things as bitterness.

"Spock, I do not blame you, if that is the assumption you are operating under. In fact, I rather lay the blame on myself. None of this would have happened had I not failed and allowed the timeline to be disrupted in the first place. This is only another proof of my condemning fault."

"I suggest you cease thinking this, elder. The cost is solely upon myself."

The old vulcan looked like he wanted to argue otherwise, but could tell that his younger self would not budge on the issue. Instead, he left the conversation open, allowing Spock to pull his thoughts together.

"I would like to inquire as to the availability of my father for contact purposes," he stated, voice settling into an armor of monotone. He ignored the faintly disappoint look on his counterpart's face. Even so, the elder Spock nodded.

"I shall send you the transmission details now," and sure enough, as small box containing the information appeared on Spock's screen. Turning to finally catch his human eyes, he softened. Instead of his revised parting words, the elder spoke the traditional vulcan farewell. "Live long and prosper, Spock."

The younger shook his head.

"I find myself believing I shall do neither."

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Please review or favorite, at your convenience of course.**_


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N- What is this madness? Another chapter already? I'm spoiling you guys.**_

_**This is for the people who thought Bones was being a jerk**_

Spock came to the conclusion that it would much more logical to communicate with his father using the terminal supplied in his apartment. Or maybe he just desired to clear his head before initializing any further conversation. Mechanically shutting down the computer, rising from his seat, and exiting the room, the half-vulcan set a reasonably slow pace to his destination. Some part of him expressed a near regret at speaking with his counterpart. He most certainly hadn't gotten any solace or closure out of the experience. Instead his mental core felt even more unstable that it had previous to their conversation.

He averted his gaze from the memorial when passing through the entryway.

By the time he exited the lab building, the night had progressed to 01:54 hours, leaving the streets deserted but for some workers or shoppers returning home late. The cold of a summer eve seeped through his uniform, and Spock shivered slightly. After years of accommodating to human comfort conditions, the chill continued to bother his vulcan skin, and he relished being able to up the environmental temperature controls in his quarters aboard the Enterprise.

* * *

_"Jesus, Spock! What do you have this thing set to? Sahara Desert?" the captain exclaimed upon entering the sweltering (to him) air of Spock's room for a game of chess._

_"Negatory, Captain. The temperature is 34 degrees centigrade: a reasonably cool temperature on the surface of Vulcan," he replied tersely. Nyota didn't complain when she visited._

_Jim snorted in amusement. "Cool, eh?" Then he sighed, "I don't suppose I can blame you for having a preference for the familiar."_

_"That would indeed be illogical."_

_Before taking his customary seat across from Spock, the blond gathered up the hem of his command gold shirt, and lifted it up over his head. Balking, the commander looked away quickly, but when he turned back he observed that the captain had deigned kept his black undershirt on. Blue eyes smiled warmly._

_"Seriously Spock, I'm breaking a sweat here."_

* * *

At some point, he must have arrived at his dwelling, because Spock suddenly found himself facing the door. Resisting the urge to shake his head (and illogical action that humans utilized to "clear" it), he entered his key code and stepped in.

This building did not quite have the accommodations available on an inter-planetary vessel, and thus the thermo controls could not exceed a mild heat. Spock found he didn't exactly mind the inconvenience at the moment. Quickly changing into a pair of civilian slacks and a black sweater Nyota had bought for him, he slid silently into the ergonomic chair by the desk. After a few regular breaths, he entered into the computer the information necessary to call his father.

Sarek promptly appeared on the screen, having answered the comm merely seconds after the transmission was started. The familiar worn face of the Vulcan ambassador spurred an odd clenching sensation in Spock's gut. At the moment, he realized he could not gather a suitable sentence to begin with.

"Spock?" his father implored, sounding concerned. The younger vulcan jumped a little in his seat. "Spock, you are crying."

Aghast, Spock raised a hand to his face, disgusted with himself when it came away wet. Tears were beyond unacceptable and in front of his _father_… returning his arm to his side, he fisted his hands, struggling to patch his shields and regain control of his mental capacities. When he was certain that the tears had stopped, he returned his eyes to the visage of Sarek.

"I apologize, father. I do not know why such a thing happened," he said bitterly (again, if Vulcans were capable of bitterness). Sarek raised a hand to cut him off, needlessly.

"There is no need, Spock. You do not need to renounce your emotions in front of me," the ambassador admonished gently. There was kindness in his dark eyes. "You do not need to renounce the half given to you by your mother. I loved her Spock, human emotions and all, so bear them as one would a precious gift."

Spock was astonished. Opening his mouth, he found that there were no words available on his tongue, and shut it once more. _Truth is: I'm going to miss you._ It was just like that time…

When his son did not respond, Sarek continued. "Feelings run deep within our race. They have for generations. While it has since become the Vulcan way to turn our backs on emotion, it does not mean we are incapable," he let out a low breath that was dangerously close to a sigh. "I know this sounds nothing like what you've been told throughout the entirety of your life, Spock. And forgive me for being too prideful to relinquish the truth," The constant flow of new knowledge sent his way made the conversation unbearable for Spock. He was a deeply-rooted tree, and his father's words were a flash flood trying to rip out those supports. It did not matter to him if the water would sweep him to greener groves and more fertile soil. Instead, his father's voice slid off him as he adamantly refused to grab hold of the information.

It was illogical.

But he did so nonetheless.

As his father ceased speaking, Spock let the silence draw out for 18.2 seconds before clearing his throat.

"Father. I would like to undergo Kohlinar."

There it was again, the faint disappointment that had been present in his counterpart's eyes flooded those of Sarek. Why? He had always been a disappointment by not being vulcan enough, and now that he was finally going to transcend even his father's expectations, he failed him. Why? Spock did not understand.

Years ago, before Spock had declined entry to the Vulcan Science Academy, his father had seemed proud of his decision to follow the Vulcan path, and eventually purge all emotion. Supported him in this avail. What had changed? Was it the death of Amanda?

And yet the half-vulcan couldn't bring himself to care about his father's wishes in this. Deep in his katra there roiled a storm cloud of despair and rage; guilt and fear; loss and shame that tore through his mind. The emotions broke his shields down as if they were parchment and swept away the years of training in control on Vulcan. Spock's head felt like it would split and there was a constant pain in his side that only increased in agony with each beat of his half-breed heart-These feelings, they frightened him. Just as they had frightened Nyota as he beat Khan to death in front of her. He couldn't bear to let them wreak havoc upon his mind any longer. He needed them gone.

And if they took away the sparks of warmth when his crewmates joked, so be it.

If they brought with them the light from the memory of the captain's laugh, so be it.

If purging the bad meant losing the good, so be it.

"Spo-"

"What the hell?!"

Startled, Spock swiveled in his chair to have his eyes fall upon what appeared to be a positively livid Leonard McCoy. Red in the face, he appeared to have dropped his medkit in disbelief. Briefly, the commander wondered how he'd gotten in.

"_Kohlinar?!_ As in 'to hell with all emotions forever'?" he yelled, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Spock, who is this human?" Sarek's question brought Spock's mind and sights back to the terminal screen.

"CMO of the USS _Enterprise_, Dr. McCoy," he answered.

"Ah…"

An angry shout dragged Spock's attention back to the doctor. "Dammit you cold-blooded, pointy-eared hobgoblin, _look at me!_"

"I am looking."

The human glared. When he noticed Spock reaching back to end the transmission, he growled, "No, leave it on. I want your daddy to hear this too."

"He is a most intriguing individual," the elder vulcan noted, before falling silent to listen attentively.

McCoy rounded on Spock. Jabbing a finger in his direction, he scowled, taking a few steps forward. "Now you listen to me, right now! I am not going ta hear anymore of this 'kohlinar' shit from ya. And you know why? Because ya need to face what's done. Giving up all those emotions? That's running away, dammit. Now I never liked your sass, but I never pegged ya for a coward, Spock.

"Jim was my friend too, okay? And as much as it hurts every. Damn. Day," his voice cracked, "I ain't pulling a gun to my head, am I? Because Jim would've wanted me to live. He would've wanted me ta keep taking care of the _Enterprise_. And he would've have wanted ya to keep on feeling!" Spock was distressed to see a tear streak down the man's face. Too much emotionalism for one day. "So don't you dare run away from him you green-blooded bastard, or I swear I will make your skinny vulcan ass wish it had never come into existence!"

Spock suddenly found his throat too tight to reply. He could practically hear the crashing sound of his shields falling down around him. Jim would have wanted… yes. That is what Jim Kirk would have wanted. Warm smiles and bright blue eyes and strong words would have wanted Spock to retain his emotions. But what could he do, now that he was being crushed beneath their weight?

"Spock," the quiet voice of his father behind him brought the half-vulcan out of his daze.

"I do not believe that Kohlinar would be possible for you. Not now. There was to be no small amount of mental stability to undergo the process to purge emotion," the familiar voice sounded melancholic and apologetic. "Spock, I can tell that right now your katra is in chaos, and therefore cannot hope to get through the ritual. I am sorry," he was sincere.

Spock swallowed. "Is… is that so," his voice trailed off.

After a minute or so of quiet, Sarek raised his hand in the ta'al. "Call me whenever you feel the need for guidance, son. Live long and prosper."

The son did likewise. "Live long and prosper, father."

The screen went blank as the transition cut out. Neither Spock nor McCoy moved from their positions in the room.

"Doctor, if I may inquire: what are you doing here?" His voice was soft; the low volume all he could muster up the strength to project.

"Besides to keep ya from doing something incredibly stupid?" the human scoffed, then kneaded his forehead with a hand that shook ever-so-slightly. "I stopped by because even _Chekov_ told me I needed to talk to ya. I figured we'd been doing enough stepping around each other for the past week and I wanted ta… apologize, I guess," pausing, he then added. "Ya left the door unlocked, by the way."

"Ah."

"That it?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to say anything else, Doctor?"

A small smile made its way onto the gruff man's weary face. "Nah. But promise me Spock, don't try to do Kohlinar."

"That would be illogical as my father just informed the both of us that it would be astronomically improbable."

"I believe his words were 'impossible'." McCoy retorted good-naturedly.

"Is that so?"

**A/N: Hoped you like this little short chapter! I plan to write as much as possible before I go back to school on Monday, so maybe I'll get another chapter (or two!) up.**

**Please review and/or favorite at your convenience!**


	6. Chapter 5

_**A/N- I'm just on a roll with these. Also someone reviewed: "Thanks for making me cry for the last like 3 chapters" which made me practically beam with pride.**_

The doctor departed for his own housing at 0300 hours with the professional opinion that Spock "get some well-needed shut eye, ya hobgoblin," which the half-vulcan promptly ignored. However, he did engage in 2.7 hours of meditation in order to regain some semblance of calm. The wafting incense and flickering candles did not do much to assist in his efforts, but by the end of the session Spock was slightly more stable. Pushing the remaining bundle of emotion deep beneath his shields, the commander stood from his mat, mindlessly brushing nonexistent dust off his trousers. The new and unfortunate knowledge that Kohlinar was beyond his reach led him to devote even more of his telepathic strength to his Vulcan customs, and the logical solace they held.

Though he hadn't felt hunger for some time now, Spock knew it would detriment his health to withstain from food any longer, and thus, after taking a brief sonic shower and donning his commanders' uniform he set off for one of the several base mess halls. The weather had cleared, and was drifting at a temperature between 27 and 29 degrees centigrade. Sunlight lit the city devastation, but somehow the golden hue made everything seem less dire. More hopeful. Volunteers were already scattered across the streets and buildings, tools in hand and medkits at their sides. Smiles were abundant and everything gave off an air of anticipation and strength. They were recovering.

All persons found amongst the wreckage over the past twenty-four hours had been alive, if not in near stable condition. It was enough to lift the spirits of everyone in the San Francisco project; cheeriness flooded the atmosphere as the list of the missing dwindled down to less than two dozen names.

Of course there was still a layer of sadness in the excitement. No one had forgotten those that weren't discovered breathing, or succommed soon after being rescued, and flowers were scattered hither and thither, accompanied by stuffed toys and framed diplomas. Citizens and foreigners alike mourned only when downtime was available, which was sparse in the flow of activity. Tears were still shed, but they were seldom unfollowed by smiles and resolve.

Entering the premises of the mess, Spock was bombarded with chatter from a couple hundred tables of Starfleet officers. The general mood struck him as lighthearted. Science department heads spoke animatedly about the breakthroughs in medicinal efforts to eager ensigns whose faces glowed with enthusiasm. A female security officer Spock recognized from the _Enterprise_ as Ms. Lindel recounted heroically how she lifted a three by three meter metal grate of a trapped man, to the clapping of several peers. A circle of engineers poured over a map of the underground, speculating as to whether or not they could approach some of the rubble from below. Although the half-vulcan expected this conversation to be "right up his alley", he could not spot Montgomery Scott within the crowd.

"Mr. Spock!"

The voice was that of Mr. Sulu, who was several tables away waving his arms to catch Spock's attention. He sat with the majority of the_ Enterprise_ bridge crew, including Mr. Chekov, Dr. McCoy, and Nyota Uhura. Presuming that the pilot meant for Spock to sit with them for breakfast, he weaved his way through the throng of humanoids to sit beside McCoy, whose plate was heaped with eggs and hash browns as well as three links of sausage. The doctor scowled when the commander lifted an eyebrow. McCoy had always scolded the captain for his sustenance choices, which were along the lines of what the man now had before him.

"Oh shaddup," he grumbled before shoving a forkful of potato into his mouth. "I need all the energy I c'n get what with all the hubbub."

"I do not believe I said anything, Doctor," Spock mused.

"Shut yer trap."

"Duly noted, Doctor."

Nyota giggle from two seats away. Spock was glad to see that they were both relatively comfortable in each other's presence after their recent split. Her brown eyes were bright with mirth and her entire body language radiated, 'thank God you're finally talking to each other'. When the half-vulcan commander raised a brow, she shook her head, smiling as she bit into a peach.

Ensign Chekov was gesturing wildly about his and Sulu's contributions to the relief effort. "Hikaru had zees wonderful idea zat we could utilize some of ze trash collecting wessels to lift the more precarious rubble," at this he made a claw-like motion with his hand, and moved to pick up a banana. Mr. Sulu threw an arm around the young navigator's shoulder.

"C'mon, Pavel. I wouldn't have been able to think of it if you hadn't calculated the weight restrictions of the pulley mechanism," he chided. The boy blushed bright red in embarrassment, or perhaps indignation, and shook his head, curls bobbing everywhere.

"Nyet, eet was all Hikaru," he insisted, to no avail, as laughter broke out around the table.

"Come on, wunderkind, admit to your genius!" Janice Rand chuckled.

Ah.

_"Get over here, wunderkind!" the captain called across the bridge to the young navigator. "I need you to decode these readings and adjust our course accordingly."_

_Wunderkind. It was a Russian term for one who achieves great success at a very youthful age. The captain had begun using it in reference to Ensign Chekov, who, despite complaining about its use as a nickname, perked up everytime he was addressed as such._

_"Yes, Keptin!" he said, practically leaping around the various bridge consoles to reach where Jim stood beside Uhura. Upon reaching the captain's side, the blond reached out to ruffle Chekov's abundant curls._

_"Why ist eweryone trying to _pet_ me?" the ensign pouted. _

_The captain laughed loudly. "It's because you're the puppy of the Enterprise!" Cerulean pools shining in amusement, despite the current risky situation the ship had wandered its way into. He always managed to remain light-hearted in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, a trait which Spock respected, as it kept the rest of the crew relatively calmer._

_Chekov scowled, but failed to look less than endearing cute. "I em not a puppy!"_

_"Yes you are, you can't deny it!" Jim smiled in Spock's direction. A habit of his when making jokes. Spock didn't know what he looked for in those moments._

"Spock?"

"Yes, Nyota?"

"Aren't you going to get anything to eat?" she inquired, pointing to the empty space in front of him. To be completely honest, Spock had considered simply sitting there for the remainder of the meal.

"I suppose I shall," he acquiesced, rising fluidly from his seat to walk over to the replicators along the east wall.

The going was slow because Spock had to duck and dodge in order to have as little physical contact with members of the crowd as possible. He had nearly reached the replicators (exactly 4.1 meters from the closest machine) when a hand grabbed his forearm. Bristling, he turned to aim a sharp comment at the perpetrator, but halted when he recognized the woman.

"Mr. Spock," Carol Marcus said, "ah, yes I knew it had to be you. You're the only vulcan currently stationed on the base," her blonde hair was tied up in a loose knot, and she wore a partially-divested-of hazard suit with a black t-shirt.

"Dr. Marcus. It is fortuitous to see you," the lieutenant commanded uttered, gently remover her hand from his arm.

"Sorry about that, I know vulcan's dislike being touched. I just couldn't think of another way to get your attention through this racket," she said apologetically, waving a hand in the air to symbolize the noise. "I was hoping to speak with you."

Spock nodded tersely. "That would be permissible. Shall we move to a quieter local?" he suggested.

Carol agreed, and they left the hall, walking to an unoccupied conference room. She limped slightly on one leg, probably due only to residual stiffness from the dermal and bone regenerator that had been used on her broken leg. She was astoundingly tough in regards to her the injury Khan had dealt her. Setting the privacy settings, Spock heard her pull up two chairs and sit in one. She appeared nervous; fidgeting and glancing all around the room-eyes falling everyone but on Spock himself. Prompting her to speak, Spock settled into the seat across from her. The human woman bit her lip and cleared her throat.

"Yes, well… I wanted to apologize."

"'Apologize'? What for?" the half-vulcan narrowed his eyes. Not suspiciously, but curious.

The physicist sighed, "Well, for my behavior on the Enterprise. I never meant to antagonize you, but I knew that as the sharpest mind on the flagship I had to watch out for you. Didn't take you very long to figure out who I really was anyway," she mused. "I was rude, and I am sorry."

"I do not believe that your guilt is founded, but I will accept your apology, Doctor," Spock said, dark eye focused on a point just above Marcus's shoulder. "In fact I would rather like to do likewise considering my reactions aboard the ship. They were… illogical." _Perhaps you should consult Dr. Marcus._

However, the blonde insisted otherwise. "Mr Spock I can tell you for certain that your suspicion was not unwarranted, especially considering that you were entirely right. I believe we got off on the wrong foot, that day on the shuttle. I'd like to try and start fresh, as they say; turn a new leaf," her eyes shone with sincerity, not that Spock had doubted her word.

"I manipulated Jim and snuck onto your ship without order, and then couldn't stop my father," chuckling darkly, she lowered her gaze. "I can't believe they're treating him like some kind of hero. Of course, no one really knows all the details, but Khan . John Harrison has stolen the spotlight," Her brow furrowed and a frown stretched her pink lips. "It makes me sick."

Not sure how or if to console the woman, Spock wavered in his seat: caught between a sincere phrase and perhaps reaching out. Instead, he was relieved of having to choose by a loud chirping sound. Marcus hurried to pull her communicator out of her hazmat suit pocket.

"Shit, that must be Foldger, he wanted me to check up with him on the USS _Vengeance_," by way of explanation, she continued. "I've been helping to retrieve the warship's trapped and buried weaponry. Can't exactly leave a hundred or so nuclear materials down there, can we?" Standing abruptly, she belted her communicator again, and faced Spock. "I'm just glad I can help somehow." More sorrowfully, she added. "I'm very sorry about Jim's death. He was a good man."

"Indeed," Spock murmured as she left the room, thinking that good men didn't die and leave their friends broken behind them.

* * *

_The delegates of the Klaiden monarchy would arrive in approximately 16.3 minutes. The captain, Spock and Security Chief Giotto stood at parade rest in the transporter room, wearing their formal uniforms, which the captain had been complaining about for the past 4.85 minutes._

_Kirk pulled at his high collar for the fifth time since donning the shirt. "Can't they make these things any more comfortable? Like seriously, how am I supposed to think of the Federation and peace talks when my neck is being scratched to hell?"_

_"Starfleet officers have been doing so for years, Captain," Spock retorted. He himself found the uniform restricting, and entirely illogical on the off chance they should encounter trouble and need to fight. _

_"It's so tight across the chest," the blond whined, as if his XO hadn't spoken. "I can barely move my arms!"_

_The stiff shirt was indeed not tailored to the captain's muscular arms and upper body. Spock made note to have a yeoman adjust it later._

_Jim gazed longingly at Giotto. "Man, I wish I could be like you and get to stay in my regular uniform," Giotto simply grunted in response._

_Jilted, the young captain turned to Spock. "Of course the thing looks like it's practically made for you, Spock. It accentuates your form and highlights your features."_

_The half-vulcan startled, staring at the other man in surprise. "Excuse me?"_

_"I'm just saying you look like a lean, mean, diplomacy machine," Kirk supplied, unhelpfully, as Spock by no means understood the human colloquialism. _

_"Can you two pay attention?" Giotta muttered gruffly._

_"Whatever, Cupcake," the captain shrugged, facing forward once again._

_Spock did likewise, but with a slight lime blush on his cheeks._

_**A/N- Oh yeah I'm going to write as much a possible! Things will pick up soon, this is going to have a fair bit of action in the second arc. **_

_**Please review and/or favorite at your convenience!**_


	7. Chapter 6

_**A/N- so by some wintery miracle the first two days back to school were cancelled, so you know what that means~! Chapterrrrrssss**_

* * *

Re-entry to the mess hall was no more nor less taxing upon the ears as it was the first time. Although the Vulcan would have rather simply stayed out and continued on with the day, sans sustenance, he did not want Nyota and the others to believe that he had left unceremoniously on their behalf. Humans were particularly sensitive about such things. He made a stop by the replicators, ordering a mug of tea and a petite plate of Terran fruits. Spock was well-prepared to explain his delay to his companions, and hoped to find them simpathetic. However, in actuality his concerns were unfounded, as he discovered that in his absence the table had been vacated by all crewmembers but Dr. McCoy.

Without uttering a word, the commander slipped into a seat across from the human, setting down his breakfast.

"I see the others have left," he commented.

"Yeah, they wanted ta go help with the north-beach tower project or whatever it's called."

"Ah, the one that is structurally compromised?"

"The very same."

"I understand that Ensign S'Lano dictated an interest in repairing the base integrity via hybolic cables. It seemed an interesting solution, though I had wanted to discuss some of the finer points with the ensign that could do for some clarification."

"Mm, that so?"

Picking absently at a hunk of cantaloupe, Spock considered what projects to invest in today, as he was no longer hindered by trials and career meetings. Perhaps he would check out with Dr. Marcus's efforts on the USS Vengeance…

"Hey, Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

McCoy shifted a little in his seat, a human sign of emotional discomfort. He folded his hands on the tabletop before speaking. "Um, well, I sort of wanted ta tell ya something…" Trailing off, the doctor looked up for permission to continue. Unnecessarily.

"I'll take that eyebrow lift as a 'do continue, Doctor, waiting is illogical.' I'm not really supposed to tell you this, seeing as it pertains to you and they-the admirality-probably want to keep it a bit hush-hush; needless to say, I'm ignoring that because I felt it proper to do so.

"You see, they ordered me to keep an eye on you," a pause. "To see if you're emotionally compromised."

The way Spock managed to keep his face expressionless was a triumph in and of itself.

"Technically, you're right up next in line to be captain of the Enterprise, what with you being first officer and all. But ever since Khan, and uh, you bashing his skull in, the admirals have been a bit antsy," the man cleared his throat for the third time in the past 4.2 minutes. "Seeing as that sort of falls under my jurisdiction, they told me to watch ya."

"Only you?"

A small shake of the head. "Uhura and Sulu too."

"Ah."

Spock pulled his shields even tighter around him, offering a meager protection from the bombardment of un-Vulcan thoughts and feelings. One could say he cowered beneath them like a child under a blanket, determined not to bear witness to the monster under the bed.

"Look, none of us want ta say you're unfit for command. And if that means turning a blind eye on a runt pig until it gets a wee bit bigger, we will. Not that yer a pig or anything," McCoy chuckled nervously. "So don't worry. We'll do the best we can to help and be very very vague in our reports."

So that explained some of Nyota's behavior. Being in his constant company under such an order would likely be, strenuous. Likely no help to her emotional vestiges to be focused on seeking his out, either. The crew had been skirting around him lately, more so than his stoic behavior usually warranted. He had rarely been in their vicinity until now. Spock liked to convince himself that he preferred solitude to being in the presence of others, and yet…

There was an ache where chess games and after-shift meals and joking blue eyes used to be.

"Thank you for notifying me, Doctor."

"You're welcome."

"However I assure you that there is no need to be false in your report of my behavior. I am emotionally sound," that felt a bit wrong, as Spock so often told his crewmates that 'Vulcans cannot lie', but he let the words be spoken anyway.

The doctor gaped at him in disbelief. Mouth opening and closing in a behavior similar to that of Terran aquatic life. He looked very much like he wanted to say something contradictory and no doubt teeming with profanity. Unwilling to give him the opportunity to start, Spock ate the last cube of fruit, before excusing himself and standing.

"Wha-? No yer not!" McCoy sputtered. "Spock! Get your pointy ears back here or I swear-"

Disposing of his plates in their respective receptacles, Spock left the mess hall at a brisk pace. The doctor's cursing faded into the roar of the city.

The crowd dispersed past the building's doors, citizens and officers heading off to various demanding projects. There were waves goodbye and several 'see you later's as well as much hugging. Odd that event like a warship screaming down from the sky brought out convivial behavior in them; Spock himself found it entirely unaccounted for. He saw very little to be cheerful about (if he were human and experienced emotions such as cheerfulness, which he wasn't). For now he'd much rather find something to occupy his time, and remain busy at it for as long as possible, lest his thoughts begin to roam into uncharted and emotional territory.

Not exactly sure where his skills would be best utilized, Spock hovered around one of the various news boards in the city. Alerts and campaigns flashed across the transparent screen, and bulletins clogged every corner of the monitor. Some posts were requests for assistance with street repair, others electrical works. A bright square inquired as to whether any individual had "minimal flight experience". Humanoids cluttered the space around it, tapping in for information and location services. Spock had to navigate the throng carefully in order to have as little physical contact as possible. Even so, he couldn't avoid a few elbow bumps or shoulder shoves.

Several projects looked intriguing to the half-vulcan scientist. Others were in demand of physical strength and prowess, which his Vulcan genetics could easily account for, should nothing else be deemed suitable. He lingered perhaps a bit longer over the solitary options, but decided he would be better suited to help in a group of others at the moment. He didn't exactly trust himself at the moment.

Spock shifted out of the way as a human female approached the terminal, narrowly avoiding physical touch. She didn't seem to acknowledge his slight dodge, and continued to the base of the board. Quickly typing in an access code, she inserted an info chip, which loaded a new post onto the screen.

_- Missing Andorian child, female_

_- eight years of age, approximately 3'5" tall, weighing 23kg_

_- last seen wearing a pink shirt and blue shorts, 167 hours ago_

_- please contact 34a-6671m-90oz with information_

A picture followed the memo.

Spock made a mental note to watch for anyone matching that description.

A science bulletin had caught his eye, so he made his course to Academy Science Lab 5C. Multiple ensigns and other scientists greeted him on his way through the halls, a couple of whom drawing up the nerve to actually approach the lieutenant commander to inquire as to his health and business. Apparently 67.5% of the lab desired his input on projects and reports. Weaving his way around accosting offers, the half-vulcan realized that this particular building was somewhat unfamiliar to him. Begrudgingly, he decided to inquire as to his desired location. Upon explaining his interest in working with the internal construction mapping of the city to an elderly Tellarite, a human woman bounced over.

"My office is right next to that room, I could show you the way," she offered, seemingly very enthusiastic to spend a minute or two in Spock's company. She brushed off all his efforts to convince her that he could certainly find his own way, she insisted. "No, please, allow me."

Dubitable, the half-vulcan conceded to her demands, and followed her down a brightly-lit corridor. For 19.4 seconds there was not a sound but for the clicking of her heels and the steady tap of his boots on the tile. Then-

"I'm actually working on a really cool project right now. Probably not as awesome as anything you're working on, Mr Spock, but exciting for a newbie like me," the redhead babbled, uncaring as to whether or not Spock responded. Thus, he elected not to. He doubted that anything this woman considered 'cool' would interest him in the slightest, and he was already twitchy from the constant need to be among crowds that day.

_"Sure you don't know what irritation is?" Jim chuckled from across the chessboard._

"You know that psycho who crashed the Vengeance? John Harrison? I get to do his _autopsy_."

Oh.

"It's unlike anything I've ever seen," she marvelled, "The composition of the man's cells and immune system are amazingly conservative of energy. Unheard of!" Waving her arms dramatically about her so that Spock had to ease away to avoid being touched. "The make-up of his muscle tissue is incredibly elastic, with rebound and regeneration abilities off the scale! No way he was human."

"I agree with that testament," Spock murmured. "John Harrison was a very unique individual."

Nodding vigorously, the female skipped about a bit, before turning to face Spock and walk backwards. Illogical.

"There are some really odd toxicity levels in his blood, too. It's fantastic to think of all the things we could possibly do with blood like that; all the medical advancements! But it just isn't viable anymore. So we'll have to study it and see if we can recreate some of the proteins and acids-work from there," she whistled. "I can't believe how lucky I am to be able to do this!"

Sighing wistfully the woman sobered up a bit. "I really wish I'd been able to get a look at his brain, though. I can only imagine what an organ like that was capable of. But during the crash something must've completely smashed his head in: there's nothing left but skull fragments and a bowl of mushy fluids to mull over now. Very unfortunate."

"Indeed," Spock croaked.

"But really, what on earth could've done that? Squished his head to bits!"

"Well Ms, this appears to be the room I am needed in, so I must depart. Thank you."

"What? But you're room is two doors down. Commander Spo-" Her voice was cut off by the click of the office door sliding shut.

Breathing in shakily, Spock stood in the dark of the room, trying to compose himself. For a faint moment, when he looked at his hands they were coated with blood and brains, dripping onto the immaculate floor. He shivered. They were clean again. But they would always be dirtied by what he'd done.

_Squished his head to bits!_

The half-vulcans thoughts flashed around in his mind, elusive, and evading any attempt at grasping stability. Was he emotionally compromised?

To be honest, he hadn't even thought of taking command of the Enterprise once its reconstruction concluded. Hadn't even considered for a moment taking his seat in the captain's chair, because that was so utterly _wrong_. That chair was Jim's, and he could never possibly hope to fill it. He'd barely even wondered what to do next, because there was nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

Illogical, there are thousands of activities to perform, and many locations to go to: on Terra and by means of a space shuttle.

And yet, he felt-yes he _felt_-aimless. Like a dog suddenly without his leash, not knowing what to do with freedom now that he had it. If possible, it was even more so restricting than before.

There was nothing for him.

Legs feeling weak, he stumbled over to a chair against the wall, limbs giving way beneath him as he collapsed into the seat. He regretted his meager choice of breakfast earlier, and realized that he hadn't consumed much more over the past 8.32 days. Spock raised a quavering hand to his face, as if trying to smooth out the lines of distress and furrowing in his brow by force. He tried breathing deeply: he tried a dozen meditation techniques. His head felt light; the pulse in his side trembled and fluctuated. Breaths came short and gasping to his lungs, never carrying enough oxygen.

He was slipping away…

* * *

That horrible glass is against his fingers again. He yearns achingly for it to disappear, knowing full well that it is futile. Blue light is fading on the other side, Las'hark is eclipsing.

Suddenly the radiation chamber isn't just that anymore: it's an airlock.

No.

The flashing light warns Spock of the imminent vacuum that will suck his captain out into the crushing emptiness of space.

No no no.

"This… this is what you would've done..."

"Captain, Jim, stop do not speak. I will open the chamber and remove you, but you must conserve your strength."

"I want you to know… why I went back for you…"

"Because I am your friend! I know Jim, you don't need to-"

"No."

What? Time seems to stop as Spock searches those cerulean depths for an answer.

"No, that isn't it…"

"Jim, then why?"

The blaring of the alarm fades as the hatch opens.

"Because-"

And the blue eyes are swept from the embrace of Spock's own, pulled into the stars like a marionette with tugged strings. A limp, golden form in the vast nothing that is the universe.

* * *

_**A/N- wow, Spock has weird dreams, eh?**_

_**Anyhoo, things should really pick up in the next few chapters… just a heads up.**_

_**Please review and/or favorite at your convenience.**_


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N- Hello once again! This chapter ended up angstier than previously planned, but a lot of this is just going where it wants to go xD**_

_**Sorry for the long wait,**_

_**Hey~ho~here we go~**_

The unfortunately familiar tang of a Hospital Bay was instantly recognized by Spock's weary senses. Soon after taking in the hallmark scent, he registered the small metallic clicks and electronic beeping of monitors as well as a sour coating on his tongue that spoke of a healing trance. All this computed before he could even formulate the strength to open his eyes. The rest of his brain, however, was still druggedly slow in reacting, and the fact that he was in the Medical Bay for a reason escaped his grasp.

Quickly falling into his routine mental and physical checks, Spock jolted into consciousness with a sharp inhale as he abruptly sat up in the bed.

"Whoa! Spock, what the hell?"

It was Doctor McCoy's voice, yes, and that was his face. They were in a private medical room, Spock occupying the only bed. A wave of confusion hit him, combined with the illogical shame that he always felt from being ill or injured. He had duties to perform-

"Spock! Let go!"

What? Let go of what?

Glancing down, the half-vulcan was aghast to see his hand clasped tightly around the human's outstretched forearm, trembling and clenching the limb to no doubt painful extremes. McCoy's eyes were bright with concern, and a hint of fear.

He regained enough control to release him. Staggering backwards a bit, the man rubbed him arm anxiously before rolling up the sleeve and inspecting the flesh with a doctor's eye. Spock was ashamed to spot a concentration of blooming bruises where his hand had been.

"I… I apologize, Doctor," he said, shaken. "I was not in full control of my mental and physical capabilities. Thus I acted impulsively."

McCoy shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about it. But damn, you're strong," he muttered, flexing his fingers and twisting his injured wrist. "I was just trying to give you a routine hypo injection and suddenly you flew up from that bed like a bat outta hell!"

"'Bat'...?"

"It's an expression," A heavy sigh. "But really Spock, I didn't think you were this stupid."

"Excuse me?" Anger roiled in the pit of Spock's stomach and his shields were not nearly at the strength necessary to quell it. "Doctor, I assure you my intelligence is superb, as I have been in fact been commended on multiple projects and observations as well as received a teaching position at the Academy mere months after graduating. I have been called one of the Academy's most distinguished graduates, and perform a singularly effective duty as both science officer and first officer on the Fleet's flagship. So I assure you that I am not 'stupid'."

"Jesus Christ, how about a little modesty?" the human groaned, slapping a palm onto his forehead, which was sweaty with stress. "That's not what I meant, dammit, I know you're a genius, hobgoblin!"

Spock did not relinquish his glare from the doctor's person. "Then please elaborate."

With much grumbling and muttering, McCoy sat down in the chair adjacent to the bed, slouching languishly and taking obviously as much time as he felt necessary.

"You _fainted_."

What could Spock remember? He recalled clearly entering the lab facility and being escorted to the room he wished to visit… no wait… he never made it there. No, he'd gone somewhere else. Swallowing hard, the commander lowered his gaze to his hands, clenched on his lap. Suddenly he felt exhausted, and experienced a strong desire to lay back down upon the pallette. Instead, he utilized his breathing techniques to stabilize and ignore the feeling.

"A lab assistant found you collapsed in an office, so she immediately called Sickbay and we rushed to bring you here. Dammit man, you've eaten practically nothing over the past ten days, have you? Your body glucose levels were dangerously low, and blood tests show you were starting to _digest yourself_," McCoy rubbed the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath. "By the time we'd gotten you here you'd entered your weird voo-doo trance or whatever, and you've been out for 38 hours. Do you have any idea how worried we all were?"

"I apologize."

A loud snort echoed off the sterile walls. "Like that's enough. Chekov practically had a heart attack and some of your science ensigns looked like they were ready to pray over your bedside!"

"That would have been most illogical," Spock agreed solemnly.

"God knows Uhura visited about a dozen times just to ask how you were and watch you sleep, green-blooded bastard," the doctor practically snarled. "Do you think any of us needed that? Especially after Jim?"

A throbbing pain started low in Spock's side. He had never meant to… he only wanted to perform his duties admirably. No… and Jim…

Jim wouldn't…

_Frantic footsteps announce the captain's entry into the Sickbay, along with some muffled shouts no doubt originating from a nurse or doctor. Spock breathes shakily, attempting to mould his face into a mask of painlessness. It doesn't appear to be successful._

_"Spock!"_

_Blue eyes dash to the side of the bed. A hand twitches, almost as if to reach out for Spock's own before adamantly staying back. The half-vulcan can feel the worry rolling off the young man in waves, a dull ache responding in his temple with guilt._

_"Oh God, Spock," Kirk keens like a wounded animal: as if he were the one confined to the hospital bed. "If I had known the natives were telepathic I would never have-never in a million years or for a thousand kilos of dilithium crystals, sent you down there!" His voice fluctuates in intensity, pain streaking every word with emotion that Spock is in no state to be subjected to._

_"...Captain…" he manages, before his own vocal chords fail him. The blond inches even closer. _

_"And don't you dare fucking tell me that it was 'logical' or it isn't my fault," Jim growled, eyes flashing with hurt. "Because that is utter bullshit. It was my decision to send you and officer Kent down there without nearly enough prior knowledge of the indigenous species."_

_"Ca-"_

_"Don't. Don't even try to speak ok? You need to rest and then you are going to get even more rest. Dammit, I am sorry, look at you: your hair isn't even straight. What the hell am I even going on about, I'm the reason you almost died today. Shit!"_

_"Capt… ain. Jim. You're distress is… unsettling," Spock murmurs._

_A gasp escapes the captain's lips before he fists a hand in his blond hair. "Shit, I'm sorry. Spock I am so fucking sorry. I just-just hate seeing you down here. You're supposed to be up on the bridge sitting with perfect posture and correcting my logic. Or, I dunno, raising an eyebrow at the funny humans and their funny emotions. Not all pliant and bloody on a Sickbay bed."_

_"The.. sheer amount of profanity you've uttered in the last 3.5 minutes is somewhat telling of character… you know."_

_"Shh. I already know all there is to know about my 'character'."_

_At this point Spock can feel a combination of Doctor McCoy's drugs and a healing trance start to kick into effect, and the room swims before his tired eyes. Yet he needs to reassure the captain that all is well; he needs Jim to stop being concerned on his behalf. Words flow through his mind easily, but only one gets past his teeth._

_"Jim…"_

Spock shifted into a position that allowed him to throw his legs over the edge of the thin mattress. Staggering upright, he stood, much to McCoy's dismay.

"What in blue blazes do you think you're doing?" he exclaimed, rushing forward to perhaps shove the half-vulcan back onto the bed and force rest upon him. His patient easily outmaneuvered the arms wielding hypos threateningly.

"Doctor," he croaked. "You said that you could formulate a serum from Khan's blood and thus revive the captain. Since then the separate science department assigned to oversee the rest of the cryogenically frozen crew has determined that their blood composition should indeed be entirely similar to that of the deceased Khan."

"...O..kay?" the doctor supplied hesitantly.

"Indeed. And if one were to perhaps utilize a sample from one of the other vessels, could you potentially recreate your notes on the matter?" Spock pushed, tone increasing in intensity and eyes wild. "If such were the case could you potentially revitalize the Captain? Understandably the odds become more difficult to eclipse as his body and brain have been in a cryogenic state much longer, and yet-"

"Spock."

"-it may be to our benefit to act as quickly as possible. We must revive the captain; it is of utmost importance-"

"Spock!"

Finally the half-vulcan seceded to silence, fading off as the doctor's shout echoed around the room. Heavy lines of concern crossed the man's face, and he regarded Spock as one would a cornered or injured beast. Cautiously. He lifted his hands slowly, and Spock was loath to the fact that he felt the need to demonstrate surrender.

"Okay you are obvious operating at less-than-logical right now, because you should be engaged in this wonderful non-activity called _bedrest_," McCoy chastised. Spock felt a muscle in his core twitch, corresponding with the doctor taking a hasty step back.

Spock didn't know this, but he looked like something fey and sinister; a panther in the sickbay.

"Do you think I haven't thought of any of this before? Dammit man, I considered every possible solution to Jim's predicament and came up blank. And you may be some super-smart, green-blooded prodigy, but I'm good enough to be CMO of the Enterprise, aren't I? If you'd have been around in the first few days, you would know this!"

"I believe that was a mutual grievance," Spock deadpanned.

"Oh shut up for second!" the doctor groaned, tilting his head back as if to ask the heavens why he dealt with such difficult patients. After a 7.1 seconds and a long sigh, he returned his gaze to the half-vulcan in front of him.

"I looked into this. Almost immediately, I tried to determine whether or not we could use one of Khan's crew. And guess what: we could."

"Then why-"

"I believe I told you to shut it."

"...Understood."

"We could, but the blood isn't viable until four minutes after the body has completed the unfreezing process," McCoy completed his earlier statement. "For all we know, that could be enough time for the bugger to wake up and bust out. Who's to say he won't destroy the other half of the city in revenge, huh? And Jim may not have wanted to die, but one thing I know for _certain_ is he wouldn't have wanted a whole 'nother Khan out there wreaking havoc on the federation."

There was a miniscule part of Spock that didn't care what Jim would have wanted. Because Jim was the one who had gone and died and left his first officer and friend behind; he didn't get a say in the matter. A man could not simply be so greedy-taking half of Spock for himself and condemning it to irretrievability with death.

It would be harder to get him to admit that there was a part within that ache that didn't spare a single thought for the city of San Francisco or Terra or even the Federation.

Dr McCoy still looked as if he expected Spock to lash out any moment. Insultingly, he clutched a tranq hypo in one hand. Spock found his reaction very illogical, but he couldn't see the dark glint in his eyes, and the way the fluorescents of the Medbay cast his features into an even more alien light. He couldn't see how utterly broken he looked.

Silence ticked away between the two men, neither relaxing in the slightest. Eventually (after 6.12 minutes) Spock felt some of the tension ease from his muscles, only to be replaced by weighty exhaustion.

"I believe," he said quietly, "that I shall indeed rest."

McCoy let out an audible breath of relief, though he remained stock-still. "That'll be a first. You taking my professional medical advice…" he trailed off. Spock knew why.

Jim never had either.

Spock slunk back over to the hospital bed, examining the surface to discover that in his haste to leave, he'd ripped out several IVs. Similar speculation to his person showed three separate rivulettes of emerald blood trailing down his arms. One on the right, two on the left. McCoy, noticing his distraction, crossed his arms.

"You really just love making my job harder than it has to be, don't you?" he scolded. "I have to put all those back in," Of course Spock would have to be subjected to more needles, but at this point the doctor was too incredibly frustrated to care about his pain tolerance.

"Even if Vulcans were capable of 'love' I can assure you that it would be illogical to compromise your ability to perform," Spock said, lifting himself bodily on to mattress pallette. "Especially if it concerns my health."

Huffing a snort of distaste, the human strode over and proceeded to reattach the various IV drips, as well as administer Spock four different hypos. "And when you wake up, I'm going to make you _eat_, you pointy-eared bastard," he grumbled threateningly, pointing exaggeratedly at a rather large tray of food on a side table.

"My parents were married at the time of my conception and birth, therefore I cannot be logically considered a 'bastard'."

"Jesus Christ!"

As he watched the half-vulcan fall into a slumber, Leonard McCoy decided he hated the look on the damn hobgoblin's face. Like there wasn't anything left for him.

"Dammit Jim, what did you _do_ to him?" he mumbled to himself, leaving the room to find Christine Chapel for lunch later.

_**A/N~~ Angst angst angst. Spock is being veerrry illogical, wouldn't you say?**_

_**Please review and/or favorite at your convenience! **_

_**Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, but I have exams coming up….**_


	9. Chapter 8

_**A/N~~ I'm officially horrible. I can't believe I left you guys without an update for THIRTEEN FREAKING DAYS. So so so sorry, I had to study 24/7 for finals, but now I am gloriously free and I promise to post as much as possible! Thank you so much for your unending patience.**_

Over the course of the next 11.21 hours Spock endured the constant company and barrage of vulnerary advancements from Dr McCoy. The man was like a large blue-clad hummingbird: hovering no more than 1.3 meters away at a time, tricorder in hand and perpetual frown on his face. Despite many crewmembers claiming he was of no sense of humor, Spock had always found the behavior curiously amusing when observing the man's actions in regards to the captain; however, being subjected to it was an entirely different concept. At this point he was practically willing to accept some of the captain's more outrageous claims, such as the doctor being sadistic or the physical embodiment of "mothering."

He was not allowed to even attempt standing until he'd consumed a rather large tray of various nutritional goods. No amount of coercing would convince McCoy that he had eaten adequate sustenance, as the man so bluntly put: he didn't trust him to take care of himself.

Odd, since Spock had been doing so for years.

"Mr Spock!"

"Yes, Nurse?"

The blonde human Spock recognized from among the Enterprise's Medbay team as Christine Chapel bustled over to the door, where she stood in front of the exit to block his path. Hands on her hips, she took a threateningly confident stance: legs spread wide and chin tilted up. Her eyes flashed coldly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You're in no state to leave just yet!" she growled.

The half-vulcan had donned a pair of civilian slacks and a black shirt, and was pulling on the second of two boots when the nurse had caught him preparing to depart the premises. Over twelve hours in the hospital had been tugging at his nerves, and he itched to get out immediately; to simply do something.

_The captain grabbed Spock's forearm and dragged him around a corner. Both officers pressed their backs flush against the wall, Jim holding his breath while Spock consciously slowed respiration._

_"Captain, I must admit that I do not quite understand as to why-"_

_"Shh!" the captain brought a finger to his own lips, cobalt eyes darting to the side in a glimpse of the corridor. Turning back to his XO, he whispered "I know you're just as sick of being in the Medbay as I am. Three days is far too long for Bones to keep us on mandated bedrest."_

_"On the contrary, my presence in the Sickbay has decreased my symptoms of illness, and has not made me 'sick'."_

_"Expression, Spock."_

_"Ah."_

_"Anyway I could tells you were getting antsy, so let's just go. I mean, we're both perfectly capable of walking," This was true. Both captain and commander had been of near-optimal health for some time now after their skirmish with the Klingons. Spock's wounds had closed fully, but he was still concerned over the state of a particularly nasty slash on the captain's abdomen. _

_"Dammit! Where'd you two blithering idiots get off to!" Dr McCoy's words echoed intimidatingly through the white halls of the ship._

_Spock noticed that despite this unwanted adversary, Jim's face was bright with mirth, azure depths sparkling like the surface of water. He was biting his lower lip to hold back laughter, and the half-vulcan found himself drawn to the action. On many diplomatic missions since the commencement of the Enterprise's mission, he'd observed the prepossessing nature the human had; he somehow had the ability to nearly always have a favorable first impression with dignitaries. This was in great odds to his own first encounter with Kirk. It was a most peculiar change in events. Spock was still staring when the blond grabbed his arm again, pulling him off in the opposite direction of the doctor's voice._

_"C'mon, let's go hide in my quarters or something-do some paperwork. At the very least it will take him a while to get through the privacy code."_

Spock obliged.

"I assure you that I have sufficiently recovered from the incident in passing. My vitals are stable and I have consumed the meal that Dr McCoy provided in its entirety, therefore I should be adequately cleared for release. My health is fine, Ms Chapel," he said, voice nothing but its usual monotony.

_'Fine' is an ambiguous descriptor, and therefore unacceptable._

For 12.7 seconds the woman scrutinized him, eyes narrowed. Then she gave a heavy sigh.

"All right, fine. I know you're practically allergic to things like common sense and following doctor's orders," she muttered, then continued before Spock could interject. "Just take it easy, okay? No jumping off buildings or anything."

"Thank you."

She saw him out with a final scan from those infernal medical tricorders.

* * *

While taking the time to catch up on recent news developments, it came to Spock's attention that the _Enterprise_ was being repaired a mere ten miles away from the city at a nearby shipyard. The notice proclaimed that crewmembers had automatic access to the workstations, and that anyone who wished to partake in the project was very much welcomed to do so. The prospect of work rather enticing after so much time spent leisurely, creating a strong urge to be productive, and so the half-vulcan commander was more than amenable to assisting in reparations. After a quick retreat to his apartment, wherein he retrieved a bag, several PADDs, and a toolkit, he purchased a shuttle ticket and departed for the shipyard.

The small transport craft was not exactly crowded, nor completely empty. There was a smattering of engineers and science ensigns aboard, chatting earnestly. Some of them Spock knew from aboard the _Enterprise_, others must have simply desired to participate regardless. Thankfully, none of them sat too close to where the vulcan had situated himself near the exit.

He let his mind wander. Or rather, he kept his mind on a leash, directing it to places where it could investigate and consider while still being able to control the movement. Some areas were strictly off limits.

Shuttles were, after all, designed for rapid transport, and thus they arrived at the Louis Peterson Shipyard in 10.98 minutes. Stepping fluidly off the vessel, Spock raised his vantage point to the less-than-imposing figure that was the _Enterprise_. The once-pristine hull was marred with sizeable scorch marks, some panels we completely stipped away in places-creating a patchwork grey surface. Smoke issued from numerous orifices in the metal skin, and makeshift scaffoldings and platforms dotted the ground around the ship. There were three areas where the rising sun shone directly through to the other side. For a vessel that had been in commission for hardly 1.31 years, it presented a rather sorry image.

As expected, he was immediately cleared to enter the shipyard. The air sang with bending metal and blowtorches. Spock had to hastily step out of the way of two female workers carrying five-meter long metal tubing to the nearest nacelle. The productivity was intoxicating.

"Commander Spock!" Turning his head in the direction of the speaker, Spock stood still as Ensign Chekov bounded over to him. The boy was covered head-to-toe in grime and soot, wearing a uniform that was obviously not suited for one his size; the pants looked like they would have slipped right off if it weren't for the climbing cable wrapped tightly around the waistband. Chekov wiped a hand across his nose, only serving to apply another black smudge of grease.

"I em so glad to see you, sir!" he chirped, bouncing up and down on his heels. "We vere all wery worried when we hear you had collapsed. It is incredibly fortunate that you are well!"

"Indeed."

"I vanted to tell your earlier, sir, but with you in ze hospital… I vas given a promotional offer on ze _Oracle 76_. Needless to say, I declined. I vould much rather serve with you on ze _Enterprise_," the young navigator beamed up at his commanding officer.

A flush of affection washed over Spock at the news. "I appreciate your support, Ensign. You performed singularly well as both Navigator and briefly as Chief Engineer during your time on the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ thus far. We would be honored to have you." That is, if Spock himself would even be cleared for command, or duty at all.

Turning beet red, the Ensign babbled many thank-yous (the vast majority of which being in Russian) before dashing off with a salute and a wave.

* * *

Spock found himself busy at work on the bridge. Several panels were utterly torched: metal casings peeling and electricals and wires shredded and sparking. Thoroughly enveloped, the half-vulcan scientist pored over the scanners he utilized at the science station. Nearly everything appeared to be intact, other than some screen damage and computer chips that needed replacing. He labored gloriously over them for hours, deft hands working with pliers and screwdrivers: gently pulling things into place and sealing cracks. His mind was focused on nothing but the progress of his repairs-completely at ease with technical schematics and the soft clink of tools.

Fixing the last wire into place of the lifeform scanner, he unfolded his legs and stood, joints hardly protesting, even after 4.7 hours of sitting. Meditation had long-since ingrained a tolerance for such in them. He rose, and bent over the console to turn on the device.

It didn't.

Considering where he may have gone wrong in his repairs (nowhere), Spock decided to trace the wiring back through the hull and investigate for breaks in the system. After pulling out a PADD, he began to follow the flow of the walls, scanning and peering at the x-ray-like diagrams on the transparent screen. He was nearly to the warp core without having spied any cuts in the cording when he turned a corner and nearly tripped over a prone body on the floor.

Dodging the sprawling limbs and scattered bottles of alcohol, the half-vulcan stepped away to a reasonable distance in order to ascertain what the situation entailed. If the grunting and mumbling were any indication, the human was alive, though his person reeked of alcohol, and further inspection of the bottles told Spock that some of it was illegal contraband. Surprised, the commander identified the person as one Montgomery Scott. As to why he was currently inebriated on the floor of the hallway escaped him.

After watching the man for movements (of which there were many of the drunken variety), Spock crouched down by Scott, bending over to get a closer look and determine whether or not the man required medical assistance. A light froth coated the human's lips, and heavy bags draped beneath his eyes. He was in great need of a shave.

Reaching out a hand and about to prod Mr. Scott's shoulder, Spock was practically accosted by the engineer, who sprang up like a hare, eyes wide and breath ragged. Flailing arms grasped the vulcan's shoulders, and he was too startled to prevent himself from being dragged around in a circle to face the man they belonged too. Tears streaked Mr Scott's face, and he sniveled, beer breath figuratively smacking Spock across the olfactory receptors.

And then he _hugged_ him.

Spock was roughly pulled into a crushing embrace and froze stock-still, shields flaring up in an instant. He remained rigid throughout the entire 32.9 second gesture, while the initiator sobbed soggily into his shoulder.

"Mista Sperk," he driveled, and Spock recoiled as he felt a drop of snot form a damp spot on his uniform. "I cannae tell ya how -hic- sorry ay'em. I was workin on these pipes here-practically antediluvian they are cannae understand why -hic- we even still 'ave 'em. And confound it I am so fooooookin' sorry it's all me fault cuz I let 'im hit me. Let 'im knock me out like a right sissy cuz that's what I am," the half-vulcan in his arms considered whether or not to risk injury to the engineer and simply break his way out of the embrace. He decided against it for obvious reasons.

"I took Jim-boy. I took 'im from ya. I'm a bloody thief thas what I am!" Scott wailed. His grip tightened and Spock winced, despite the fact that the man was, well, human, and alcohol had depleted a vast majority of his strength irregardless.

"Mr Scott-"

"You cannae let me live fo' me crimes, Commander! At the very least I belong in the -hic- brig!"

"Mr Scott-"

"Montgomery?"

Lieutenant Uhura had been patching a communication terminal in Main Engineering, and after finishing up the job to a satisfying degree, she'd heard a bit of a commotion from the adjoining deck. With the intention of figuring out the cause and returning Mr Scott's tool kit, she turned the corner to see Spock, on the ground with the Chief Engineer draped across him. The half-vulcan was turned toward her with a helplessly pleading look on his face.

It was priceless.

"Nyota…" Oh God, Spock was practically_ whining_! She held in a guffaw before bending down and dragging the (now unconscious) Scottsman off the half-vulcan, who immediately stood up, back erect, and brushed himself off to fix his hair and clothing. He was like a big cat.

Clearly ruffled, he straightened his black shirt for the third time before lifting his gaze to the woman, who had leaned Mr Scott against a wall and was now stooping to collect the various glass bottles on the floor.

"I am most grateful for your assistance," he said, a barely perceptible frown gracing his face as he noticed a patch of drool on his uniform.

"No problem," Uhura quipped, dumping the bottles into the proper receptacle. Clapping her hands together, she spun to face him. She wore a pair of work pants-baggy, grey garments that resembled a less-colorful hazmat suit, and a red form-fitting t-shirt. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and her face was marked with grease. "I'm glad to see you're finally out and about. It was… hard, to see you in the hospital," she trailed off, gaze dropping.

Spock felt his side clench, and found he wished to look away as well.

"I am sorry for the grievance caused by my neglect behavior of myself."

"Nah, it's okay," she said, looking up at him with a small smile. "Actually, no. That was really stupid, dummy."

"I do not plan on repeating the incident," Spock assured her, while at the same time uncertain as to whether or not he was capable of meeting such a claim.

"Good," Uhura put her hands on her hips, looking him up and down. Then she glance over her shoulder at the slumbering engineer.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with him," she sighed. "He hasn't left the ship, slept in a proper bed, or drunk anything other than...Romulan ale," she finished, grabbing at a stray bottle and reading the label. "He's practically as bad as you."

"As a human, I agree that he needs a certain amount of healthy resources of which he seems to have none," Spock commented.

Both stared at Scott for 40.1 seconds before the communications officer continued.

"I've been helping out by fixing up the comm systems, so we've been working together. He's really great when he isn't drunk off his ass," A half-hearted laugh escaped her lips. "I wish I could get him to stop. I've been doing my best, but…" she watched the man mournfully.

"Nyota?"

"Yes, Spock?"

"Perhaps we should locate and dispose of any alcohol, sythehol or other inebriants before Mr Scott regains consciousness.

Uhura grinned widely. "That's a brilliant idea."

**_A/N~~ woo hoo, hope you liked! I have a snow day tomorrow (and probably tuesday; all hail sub-zero temperatures!) so I plan to write A LOT to make up for the lack recently. Get ready for a butt-load of angst next chapter, I'm already writing it a whew…_**

**_Please review/favorite/follow at your convenience! And thank you for reading!_**


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